


On the Head of a Pin

by DiNovia



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: 1995, Cat runs an entertainment gossip magazine, F/F, Kara Danvers Arrived On Earth On Time, Kara is not a journalist, Kara was raised by the Kents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28235028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiNovia/pseuds/DiNovia
Summary: For InRaosLight, whose prompt was: "Arrived on time or younger Cat (so they're the same age) au- the first time Kara saves Cat, before she's become Supergirl, Cat thinks this girl must be her guardian angel. Especially when Kara keeps swooping in to save her."I might have interpreted it a little differently than you intended, but I hope you like it!
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant
Comments: 22
Kudos: 197
Collections: Super Santa Femslash 2020





	On the Head of a Pin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InRaosLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InRaosLight/gifts).



> The story takes place in 1995 when Cat Grant is 30 and Kara is 26.
> 
> I'm using one version of DC Universe canon in that Cat Grant is still attached to her early career as an entertainment gossip columnist and she did give up Adam.

_National City, CA_ _June, 1995_

Cat Grant checked her Fossil watch as she darted into the Starbucks on 10th for her usual caffeine fix. It was five after six which still gave her enough time to get across the plaza on foot. That is if the line wasn’t too— 

“Damn,” she said softly, a scowl smudging the notch between her brows like an inked thumbprint. At least a dozen people snaked around the close quarters of the shop, most of them dead on their feet, and at least two of them obviously still wearing what they’d worn to the clubs the night before. She checked to see if she recognized either of them — a story hinting at late-night debauchery always increased _Shoptalk’_ s circulation — but they were nobodies and she lost interest in them, annoyed.

She grabbed a copy of the _Trib_ from the stack by the door and flipped to the Entertainment section while she waited. She wanted to see if she’d scooped them on the ludicrous casting decision for that Nick Castle rom-com everyone had been talking about in the spring. As she scanned the New & Noteworthy blurbs for Ellen Degeneres’ name, she heard a quiet “Psst!”

Cat craned her head around the crowd of people in front of her to see who was being summoned and found herself locking eyes with one of the baristas. The young woman gestured for Cat to come forward to the end of the counter, which she hesitantly did. She tucked the newspaper into her Kate Spade bag and tried to ignore the hateful gazes boring into the back of her head. Jumping the line in a Starbucks was simply _not done_.

“Yes?” she asked the blonde. It was hard to tell how old the girl was under her unflattering green apron and visor. Cat peered at the gold name tag. “Keira?”

“Kara,” the girl corrected. “And sorry about the line. Our new drink came out today; I guess everyone wants to try it. Anyway, here’s your latte.” She pushed a venti cup toward Cat surreptitiously. “I didn’t want you to have to wait.”

Cat blinked, taken off guard. “You know my order?” she asked, her voice higher than she would have liked. Surprise had a way of doing that to her. She was going to have to work on that.

“Of course, Miss Grant,” replied Kara, and a shadow of disappointment crossed her face before she could stop it. She quickly plastered one of those patented customer service smiles no one ever believed over it. “No fat, no foam, extra hot,” she said brightly. Too brightly. “Your usual.”

Well. This was new.

Cat raised a single eyebrow and took a sip of the latte. It was, indeed, her usual order presented to her by a barista she would have sworn she’d never seen before today, if asked. Clearly, Kara had seen her, though. 

Interesting.

“Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude was sincere if not effusive. She fished in her wallet for a ten-dollar bill and handed it over with a faint smile, uncertain what to think. “Keep the change.”

Kara blushed and stammered out something that sounded vaguely like a thank you. Cat smirked, donning her sunglasses as she headed out the door. She checked her watch again and thought better of trying to hoof it across the plaza. The barista had saved her some time, but not enough, and Cat hated running in heels.

She looked down 10th for a cab going in the right direction and spotted one just pulling away from the opposite corner. She waved it down and stepped into the crosswalk, hurrying to meet it. She never saw the bus barreling toward her, only becoming terrifyingly aware of it when it blasted its horn directly in her left ear.

Before Cat could even scream, a rush of light and air engulfed her, gently lifting her off the ground. Half a second later, she was standing outside the Starbucks again, heart pounding like a timpani drum and blood rushing in her ears. The bus driver blasted the bus’s horn again as if shaking his fist at her, and turned onto the next street.

Cat stood frozen on the sidewalk, trying very hard to breathe, desperate to make sense of what had just happened. She had been in the street running to flag down a cab. A bus she never saw had nearly run her down. She had almost died.

Somehow, though, she stood again where she’d started from, placed there by a whirlwind smelling vaguely of coffee, peach yogurt, and herbal shampoo. 

Cat looked around, expecting to see stunned commuters gawping at her, but it was too early in the morning and there was no one. Not one witness to confirm what had happened, or even to ask if she was okay. Once she had her bearings, she glanced up at the clock high up on Truett Tower. She was definitely going to be late now.

Shaking her head, Cat spotted another cab heading in the right direction and waved it down. Not wanting to take any chances, she looked both ways twice before entering the crosswalk, ignoring the memory of the bus’s bleating horn echoing in her head.

\--- 

By the time she reached _Shoptalk_ ’s tiny offices at L and 12th, Cat’s brain felt like it might leak out of her ears. No matter how hard she tried, she could not come up with one single reasonable explanation for what had happened. She was beginning to think that Keira or Kara or whoever she was had put a very strong, very short-acting hallucinogen in her latte and she’d imagined the whole damned thing. In fact, she might have dismissed the incident altogether if it hadn’t been for the smell of peach yogurt.

Dannon peach yogurt — the kind with the fruit at the bottom — had been the favorite snack of Cat’s fourth-grade best friend, Roxanne Hanson. Roxanne’s mother would freeze the little plastic cups before adding them to Roxanne’s lunchbox in the morning and they would thaw just in time for lunch, much to Roxanne’s constant delight. 

Cat hadn’t thought of Dannon peach yogurt in years, not since Roxanne’s funeral the summer before they entered junior high. Her best friend had been killed while riding her brand-new bike to the library. The bus driver swore he never saw her.

“Mariana,” called Cat, seeing her star reporter at her desk. She was just hanging up her phone. “What do you know about angels?” She swept into her office overlooking the small bullpen and tossed her copy of the _Trib_ onto her desk before hanging her bag on the coat rack.

Mariana Torres raised a dubious eyebrow and followed her boss to her office. “The sixties girl group, the baseball team, or Charlie’s Angels?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“No,” said Cat, sitting down to boot up her Dell desktop. “Biblical angels. With wings and harps and—” She fluttered one hand in an abstract way while taking a sip of her latte. “Halos.”

Mariana smirked. “Highlights or twelve years of Catholic school? Choose carefully. If you go with option two, there’s a good chance you’ll accidentally get my oft-maligned impersonation of Sister Mary Frances, the Holy Terror of Saint Rose of Lima Parochial School.”

Cat smiled ruefully, picking up her stack of messages. “Highlights,” she said. “I’ll let you know if we need a deeper dive.”

“Highlights it is. According to Catholicism, there are nine choirs of angels divided into three levels, or spheres. The first sphere contains the—”

“Stop,” said Cat, visibly shuddering. “That’s already more than I wanted to know.” Was organized religion really just free-floating around the Universe like that? “I should have been more specific. What do you know about _guardian_ angels?”

Mariana laughed and dropped into one of Cat’s guest chairs. “Yeah, that’s a lot easier. Guardian angels are part of the ninth choir, the ones who have the most contact with us poor humans. Everyone on Earth is supposed to be protected by a guardian angel whether they’re Christian or not. They’re assigned by God.”

Cat waited for Mariana to continue. “That’s it?” she asked. “There are nine choirs divided into three spheres, and that’s all you can tell me about guardian angels?”

“I mean, some people believe that those who have died volunteer to be guardian angels for family members. Others believe the assignments are completely random, or that one angel is responsible for more than one human at a time.” Mariana shrugged. “What do I know? People still argue about how many of them can dance on the head of a pin, for God’s sake.”

Cat ignored her and looked into the distance, frowning. She drummed her fingers on her desk. “Hmm,” was all she said.

“Why the sudden interest in angels, anyway?” asked Mariana, suspicious for the first time. “I thought you were an atheist.”

“Oh, I’m still _devoutly_ atheist,” said Cat, smirking as she flipped through the little perforated slips of paper from reception. She looked up after re-ordering them according to priority and flashed Mariana a bright grin. “I was just wondering, that’s all. Now, where do we stand on that interview with Björk’s costume designer? I want to pair it with that interview of Marilyn Manson’s make-up artist for the October issue.”

Mariana frowned, recognizing a brush-off when she saw one. “I just got off the phone with his publicity person,” she began, and they moved on to more mundane issues, their weird conversation over just like that.

\---

The immediacy of the mystery faded for Cat over the next few weeks as the pressures inherent in publishing a bi-monthly magazine grew. It was _Shoptalk_ ’s second year in print, and a now-familiar chaos dominated her time while she put finishing touches on their latest issue. The frequency of her bus-related nightmares had subsided for the most part, thank goodness, so she was at least getting some sleep. She still had a ‘what if’ moment every now and again, especially when she heard loud honking, but otherwise, she’d moved on with her life, the incident all but forgotten. 

It helped considerably that there’d been no Scrooge-like redemption scenes after her little brush with death. In fact, the only thing that had changed considerably was her awareness of baristas. Or of one particular barista.

“You’re going to get fired if you keep letting me jump the line, Kara,” she admonished as she took possession of the latest in a long line of venti-sized caffeine fixes. 

Kara beamed but waited for Cat to take that all-important first sip of the day before she answered. “Nah,” she said, flashing a dismissive grin at her younger, stubble-chinned boss who was busy training a new guy at the register. “Greg’s good with it — especially since you put in that monthly order for your whole office. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Cat waved Kara’s gratitude away. “If it keeps my team awake on long nights better than me yelling at them, it’s worth every penny,” she said. “Still, I don’t want you to lose your job. I’m perfectly capable of waiting in line.”

“I’m not worried.” Kara glanced over her shoulder at her boss, then leaned closer to Cat. “Don’t tell Greg,” she whispered, “but this has only ever been a side thing for me. While I learn how to make it in what I want to do.”

Cat’s face fell the tiniest bit. “Acting?” she asked, trying hard to inject some semblance of interest in yet another story about a starry-eyed blonde falling for the lure of Hollywood. National City was often the first stop on a long, disappointing journey for these girls, and so few of them ended up featured in the pages of her little gossip rag. 

The horrified face Kara made at the question made Cat laugh right out loud.

“Ew! No!” cried Kara, clearly caught somewhere between feeling offended and defensive. “Why would you think that?” 

“You’re pretty enough,” explained Cat, offering a half-shrug. The immediate flash of pink in Kara’s cheeks delighted her but she hid her smile behind a sip of her drink. “What then?”

“You’ll laugh,” accused Kara, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Cat arched an eyebrow. “Try me,” she said, rising to the occasion.

“I’m a sculptor — well, an aspiring one, anyway. I work at Luce del Sole when I’m not here.” A thought made her nose wrinkle. “And I kinda live there, too. Master Panetti let me convert the top floor of one of his warehouses into a studio apartment.”

Cat could not have been more shocked if Kara had said she was a CIA assassin building a convincing backstory for her next mission, but a pointed look from Greg across the room let her know she’d monopolized Kara’s time too long. 

“Color me intrigued,” she said, and her voice stayed in its usual register, much to her relief. “Tomorrow, you’ll have to tell me how you convinced a curmudgeonly recluse like Luco Panetti to take on an apprentice.”

“Oh.” Disappointment shadowed the blue in Kara’s eyes like storm clouds. “I’m off tomorrow. Here, I mean. I’m helping Master Panetti with a cast of his latest work.”

“Lunch, then?” asked Cat as nonchalantly as possible, adrenaline from her busy week fueling her boldness.

“Lunch?” Kara repeated, almost yelping the word.

“The meal eaten in the middle of the day?” When Kara didn’t answer, Cat frowned, worried she’d taken a step too far. “I mean, if the man doesn’t let you eat—” she said tartly, donning her sunglasses and turning away, intent on escape, but Kara stopped her.

“Yes!” she blurted, too loudly. Heads all over the shop turned toward the sound, including Cat’s. Kara took a calming breath and tried again. “I mean, yes, he lets me eat. And yes, I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow.” She bit her lip and blushed again. “Miss Grant.”

“Call me Cat,” said Cat, relieved beyond measure she hadn’t misread the situation after all. She hid another pleased smile behind the rim of her now-cold latte. “Do you like sushi?”

Kara nodded, wide-eyed behind her glasses.

“Perfect. Meet me at Kabuki at one. It’s at 4th and R, across from the bank. See you tomorrow!” Cat waved cheerfully and strode out into the bright Southern California sunshine.

Kara waved back — too late — and caught herself just before her excitement levitated her right off the floor. Blushing again, she checked to see that no one had seen her, then went back to work, taking over for Greg and his trainee at the front register. 

“Welcome to Starbucks!” she said exuberantly, ignoring the derisive scowls of the trio of tanned men in front of her. “What can I get you?”

\---

Kara looked up at the darkening skies over National City as she got out of the cab in front of Kabuki, both unnerved and fascinated. The possibility of a thunderstorm had dominated the morning newscast but she hadn’t thought at the time that anything would come of it. Often, storms seen crawling up the coastline from Mexico were gone by the time they reached Baja, shredded by the mountains or winds or both. 

Not this one, apparently, and the debate throughout the entire newscast had been about whether the storm would bring rain with it or just lightning. Lightning alone meant wildfires — especially in drought-ridden California — and it was hard for Kara to just stand by and do nothing when disasters like that happened. She would mope for days afterward, consumed by guilt, throwing herself into her work at the foundry, hoping to drown her shame and frustration there.

As she ducked worriedly into the restaurant, Kara prayed the slightly greasy coolness she felt on her skin meant rain. She was far too happy to be depressed, which became evident the moment she saw Cat waiting in the small lobby. A brilliant smile lit her up like a sunburst.

“Am I late?” she asked.

Cat shook her head. “I’m early,” she said. Her own smile felt as bright as Kara’s and Cat struggled to tamp down what felt suspiciously like exhilaration. “My errand at the bank didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” As the hostess led them to their table, she added, “I like killing two birds with one stone whenever I can.”

“Now there’s a saying I’ve never understood,” said Kara, wrinkling her nose as she sat.

“They don’t use it where you’re from?” asked Cat. She took the offered menu from the hostess and thanked her warmly before turning her attention back to Kara.

Kara snorted. “No, they use it in Smallville. I just don’t understand wanting to kill _one_ bird with a stone, let alone two! I mean, what did they ever do to you?”

Cat chuckled. “You have a point.” She stole a glance at Kara over the top of her menu. The younger woman was dressed simply enough — a pair of jeans and a white Oxford over a tank top — but Cat found the outfit extremely distracting. Or was it the suggestion of a delectably muscular build underneath all that white cotton? “So, where is this Smallville you’re from?” she asked, regretfully forcing her gaze back to the menu.

“Kansas,” said Kara so matter-of-factly, Cat almost choked on a sip of her water. 

“I see.” She cleared her throat, then asked, “And is that where you studied sculpting?” Cat was beginning to realize how little she knew about Kara. So far, her assumptions were proving to be wildly off-base and that was not a good thing — not in her industry _or_ in her personal life. 

A wholesome midwestern farmer-girl-slash-starlet-wannabe made more sense, dammit! And just how young was Kara, anyway? Cat fervently hoped she hadn’t spent these last weeks flirting with a college student.

Kara set her menu aside and laughed. “There’s not a lot of call for bronzes in rural Kansas these days,” she said. “Now butter sculptures? That’s a different story. I could be up to my neck in State Fairs from here to Peoria if I’d taken up butter sculpting.” She took a sip of her own water. “I did my undergrad at SAIC in Chicago,” she explained, “then got my Master of Fine Arts two years ago at the Rhode Island School of Design.”

Cat surreptitiously breathed a sigh of relief. A Master’s degree meant Kara had to be in her mid-twenties at the very least. “Then what brought you to National City?” she asked, still confused. That question just kept coming up. “We’re not known for the arts, fine or otherwise.”

“No, but it’s two thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight miles from where I was.” Kara’s eyes had turned a peculiar shade of blue, her voice quiet. She looked away from Cat for a moment, obviously trying to come to some sort of internal decision. When she turned back, she gave Cat a self-deprecating smile and added, “Bad breakup.” 

“Ah,” said Cat, empathizing. She flicked her gaze to her hands folded on the tabletop for just a second before opting for the honest reply. “It’s two thousand eight hundred and eight-point-three for me. But that was a long time ago.”

 _And Adam’s turning nine this year_ , she thought, wondering if his hair was still dark or if it had started to lighten, like hers. Risking a glance at Kara, she was surprised to see a sort of shrewd tenderness in her eyes, as if the younger woman knew enough to leave the comment alone yet still felt drawn to comfort Cat.

Before Cat could say something sarcastic to lighten the mood, Kara reached for her water glass. “To new beginnings,” she said, holding the glass aloft.

“To new beginnings,” repeated Cat, a little stunned, lifting her own. The clink the glasses made as they toasted felt almost like they’d struck a gong.

\---

Two hours later, thunder rumbled outside the restaurant, and Cat first looked up, then at her watch. 

“As much as I am enjoying this, I really have to go,” she said regretfully. They’d drunk three pots of hot tea between them, and the remains of two chef’s special bento boxes littered the table. Hardly anyone was left in the restaurant.

Kara nodded. “Me too,” she said, though she really didn’t. The rain had ruined Master Panetti’s plan to pour a cast of his latest work — he’d started muttering curses under his breath as soon as he’d seen the weather forecast that morning — and she was off from Starbucks. Kara usually spent unexpected free time working on her own sculptures but the one she was working on now hurt to look at and she didn’t want to spend the afternoon sobbing because she was finding it harder and harder to remember what her mother’s face looked like.

What she really wanted was to spend the afternoon with Cat, which was both ridiculous and impossible.

“Can I drop you somewhere?” asked Cat. Normally, she wouldn’t have asked but the possibility of spending a few more minutes with Kara, even if it was in the back of a filthy cab, was too appealing.

Kara hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m in the opposite direction,” she explained, nodding instinctively toward the northeast where the warehouse district lay. “I’ll get my own cab,” she added, steadfastly refusing to listen to the part of her brain begging her to accept Cat’s offer.

“Then this is my treat,” said Cat, smiling to cover her disappointment. She slipped two crisp twenties out of her wallet and dropped them in the tray with their check. 

“Only if I can treat next time,” said Kara as they rose. “Maybe dinner?” Her cheeks went pink but Cat was impressed. Kara had held her gaze when asking, those impossibly blue eyes echoing all the hope and nervousness she felt. 

Thunder rumbled again and Cat smirked. “Like a date?” she asked lightly as they exited the empty restaurant. A steady spattering of rain forced them to take cover under the tiny awning outside while Cat glanced up the street for a cab, waving at a likely possibility.

Kara put her hand on Cat’s forearm and Cat looked back at her. “Not ‘like’,” she said, her low voice laced with steely certainty. “I’m asking you out.” She searched Cat’s eyes for any hint of what she might be thinking. “Okay?”

The rain sheeting around them became the walls of their own private moment and Cat felt her heart begin to beat hard and fast, like a freight train racing through a sun-drenched desert. Was Kara going to kiss her right here outside her favorite sushi restaurant? Was she going to let her?

A crack of thunder, closer now, shattered the moment and the world rushed back in, swallowing them whole.

“Yes,” said Cat, licking her lips, flustered. She nodded slowly. “Okay.” 

A horn beeped from the curb. They looked toward the waiting cab.

“I’ll call you at your office,” said Kara. “Tomorrow, after my shift.”

“I’ll tell Jennifer to put you right through,” said Cat. They shared one last long look, then Cat bolted for the cab, only realizing she’d forgotten something vitally important just as she reached the door. “Wait!” she called, turning back. “I don’t know your last name!”

Kara grinned. “It’s Kent!” she called back. 

Cat knew she was standing in the rain grinning like an idiot but that fact didn’t seem to matter at the moment. She waved and then turned, hurrying to get out of the weather. The very second her hand touched the metal door handle, though, the sky above her split in two, half blue fire, half madness. Cat’s whole body contracted, anticipating the strike, but nothing happened. 

Well, not exactly nothing. 

Curled in on herself, eyes hidden against her sleeve, Cat felt the gentle rush of jasmine-scented air whirl around her. It lasted only seconds — two safe, warm seconds — then was over. Afterward, she cautiously straightened, tasting something hot and metallic on the back of her tongue, like a can of beer left sitting in the sun. 

“Jesus!” swore the cab driver, bailing out of the driver’s side door. He stared incredulously at Cat over the roof of his car. “Are you all right, lady?”

The rain had all but stopped. Smoke rose from a nearby section of broken sidewalk, burned black by what had to have been lightning. Cat looked back at the restaurant entrance expecting to see stunned blue eyes, but Kara was nowhere to be seen.

Cat didn’t answer the driver. Instead, she straightened her spine and held her head high, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened.

“12th and L,” she said haughtily as she got into the cab, hesitating only briefly when she had to open the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said slowly, shaking his head as he got back into the cab. A minute later, he eased them into the flow of afternoon traffic.

Cat sat ram-rod straight in the back seat and clutched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She tried hard to ignore the feeling of every hair on her body standing at attention, electrified, and wondered if the fillings in her teeth really were hot or if she was just imagining it.

—-

“Maybe it’s cabs,” Cat said to Mariana later, her head hanging awkwardly between her knees. She hoped she wasn’t inadvertently giving the woman a show. She’d chosen the pale gray suit with the mini-skirt for Kara, after all. 

Cat hadn’t even realized she was lightheaded until she'd walked into the office and the bullpen swam before her eyes. Mariana had barely been able to catch her before she’d hit the floor.

“Cabs?” asked Mariana incredulously. She hovered nearby with a paper cone filled with water from the water-cooler in the hall, frowning. “What do cabs have to do with lightning almost striking you?”

Cat groaned. “Because I was running to catch a cab the first time this happened, too.”

That only mystified Mariana further. “The first time?” she asked. “You’ve almost been struck by lightning _twice_?”

“No,” Cat said, voice still muffled. She felt a little less fuzzy but didn’t dare try to sit up. “The first time I was almost hit by a bus.”

“Okay, now I’m really confused,” said Mariana.

Cat ignored her. “What do guardian angels smell like?” she asked abruptly.

“ _What?_ ”

“Do they smell the same every time?” Cat continued, “Or is their smell somehow connected to the incident or—”

“Up,” said Mariana sharply.

Cat looked up at her star reporter. “What?”

“Sit _up_ and tell me what the hell is going on right now, Cat Grant, or I am taking you to the ER.” When Cat just blinked owlishly up at her, Mariana crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her. “You have until I count to three. One. Two—”

Cat sighed and untangled herself from the ungainly pretzel she’d twisted herself into. “Okay, okay,” she said, annoyed, but also relieved when she felt no nausea. “There’s no need for dramatics.”

“You want dramatics? Let’s call your mother in Metropolis and see what she has to say,” said Mariana, smirking when what little color Cat had gotten back drained away again. “Otherwise, pull yourself together and _talk.”_

Cat rolled her eyes but did as asked, telling Mariana about both incidents in detail, starting with that bus outside of Starbucks, the scent of yogurt, everything. When she finished, Mariana walked slowly over to one of her guest chairs and sat down, looking quite thoughtful.

“Thank you for not laughing,” Cat said quietly, watching Mariana closely.

“This is no laughing matter,” replied the reporter absently, still mulling over what she’d heard. Finally, she looked at Cat directly, her loamy eyes clear and bright. “And this is why you asked about guardian angels that day? That’s where your brain went first?”

“Yes,” said Cat hesitantly, not sure it was the right answer.

“Not aliens or — I don’t know — ghosts or something like that?”

Cat snorted. “Aliens don’t smell like Dannon peach yogurt,” she said confidently.

“How do you know?”

The question took Cat off guard. “What?”

“How do you know what aliens smell like?” repeated Mariana. “Have you ever met one?”

“No!” Cat was aghast. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Wait, are you still watching that terrible show — what’s it called — _X-Files_?”

“It’s not terrible and you’re changing the subject,” retorted Mariana, tossing her head with indignation.

Cat grinned. “So David Duchovny really does it for you, huh?” she asked knowingly.

“ — she said, as if Gillian Anderson wasn’t right up her alley.” Mariana grinned back wickedly. “So to speak.”

“Ugh, don’t be disgusting,” protested Cat, wrinkling her nose at the lewd pun. “And now who’s off-topic?”

“I’m just saying aliens or ghosts are as likely as guardian angels in this scenario. It’s interesting you went for the religious explanation first, Miss Devout Atheist. That’s all.”

“Fine. Perhaps I’m not as removed from my sterile Unitarian upbringing as I’d hoped.” Cat arched one brow. “Happy?”

Mariana stood up. “Inordinately. It’s probably not enough to get my mother to stop lighting candles for you after Sunday mass, but it’s a start.” She hesitated at the door. “Are you sure you’re okay, Cat? Getting _almost_ struck by lightning doesn’t sound fun.”

“Clearly, it wasn’t,” said Cat tersely. She thawed a little in the next breath and offered Mariana a sheepish smile. “Thanks for catching me out there,” she added, nodding toward the bullpen. “I owe you.”

“And I’ll collect on that someday,” said Mariana, winking. “But seriously, be careful, okay? We’d be up you-know-where without a paddle if our intrepid leader was suddenly out of the picture.”

Cat chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this is — or was — is over now. It has to be.”

“Oooh, don’t count your aliens before they hatch.” Mariana grimaced. “You’re just asking for it now.”

Cat rolled her eyes at the brunette and waved her out of her office, already reaching for the phone, intent on putting the whole topic out of her mind.

\---

Friday evening a week later, Cat anxiously checked her watch for the fifteenth time as the cab crawled out of the city center toward the address Kara had given for their date. Traffic was a nightmare, as always, but the spectre of the unknown on top of it had ratcheted Cat’s tension levels past irritation straight into aggravation. 

She’d never heard of the restaurant Kara had chosen and watching as the glittering skyscrapers shrank and faded outside her car window, Cat wondered if she had misheard the address. A different kind of nightlife than she was used to made its home in this industrial bulwark between downtown and the harbor and Cat wasn’t at all sure she wanted to experience it. Least of all while on a date with the most intriguing woman she’d ever met.

An _actual_ date.

That was rare enough, but with a woman? Those were few and far between for Cat, even in this liberal bastion of Southern California. She was a workaholic in an industry dominated by appearance and bankability, and for every Melissa Etheridge there were dozens and dozens of Ellen DeGenereses and Jodie Fosters hiding in plain sight, afraid to give voice to their personal truths lest they destroy their very public and successful careers.

Cat had seen too often what the less scrupulous members of her profession could do to a good person in an impossible situation, and she did her best to make sure _Shoptalk_ did not trade in that sort of gossip. It gave her a level of professional trust in the business she wasn’t sure she’d earned, but it also made her work that much more difficult. 

Romantic relationships forged in the fires of that kind of Hell? They did _not_ have a great track record and those that made it beyond the six-month mark often owed their success to clever misdirection and strategic bearding. Hence, why Jodie and her “personal assistant” had been both inseparable _and_ invisible for the past ten years.

Cat was lucky; her livelihood didn’t depend upon how completely she embodied societal norms and she had never had to hide her bisexuality for her own protection. She had hidden it for the sake of several partners, briefly, finding ultimately that the novelty of ‘clandestine’ quickly disintegrated into the tedium and defeat of erasure. 

It had been emotionally easier — if less fulfilling — to restrict herself to male partners for the most part. And she was happy to do so, or at least she told herself she was. Right up until Kara Kent, the Kansas-farm-girl-turned-sculptor, let her jump the line in Starbucks one bright summer morning.

Cat’s anticipation at seeing Kara intermingled with her unexpected nervousness in a particularly toxic way and just when she’d reached the point of ordering the cab driver to turn around, he pulled into a small parking lot. The front of the restaurant featured an ornately carved teak door flanked by two tall windows on each side. The windows and their slatted green shutters were wide open on this warm July evening, giving the place the air of an outdoor market. It looked wildly out of place against the backdrop of corrugated-aluminum warehouses and hulking gray distribution centers.

Kara stood outside the restaurant, dressed casually but elegantly in a white blouse tucked into pleated black slacks. Her unbound hair framed her face in long, golden waves. The smile that lit up her eyes as soon as she saw Cat swept all the anxiety from Cat’s mind and body in an instant, leaving her feeling feathery and light.

“You made it,” said Kara, opening the cab door. She held out her hand and without thinking, Cat slipped hers into it.

“This isn’t Mars,” scoffed Cat, albeit self-consciously, knowing full well she rarely left the confines of the five-block radius around _Shoptalk_ ’s offices. “It smells heavenly,” she added, because it did. She detected ginger and fish sauce and lemongrass immediately and imagined a hint of salt-sea air behind it. 

“Hungry?” asked Kara as they went inside. She caught the eye of a woman conversing with a couple at a small table against the wall and pointed to a spot on the opposite side of the room. The woman smiled and nodded, returning to her conversation. 

“Very,” said Cat, eyeing Kara speculatively, recognizing the change in her confidence level here in what was apparently a familiar environment. The effect it had on Cat’s attraction to the woman was palpable.

“Good,” said Kara, pleased. She led Cat through a side door partially hidden by lush bamboo growing in giant ceramic pots to either side. They emerged onto a wooden deck tucked under a pergola festooned with emerald vines shading them from the evening sun. Sweet purple blossoms Cat didn’t recognize perfumed the air and quiet music floated around them. “Is eating out here okay or—”

“It’s perfect,” Cat assured her. “But where did they hide the city?” Everything about Kara seemed to defy Cat’s expectations in one way or another, and this hidden oasis in the middle of the industrial district of National City was no exception. Cat found it a little unnerving.

Kara laughed. “When it gets dark, you can see the lights of downtown through the leaves and flowers. It’s the closest we get to stars out here.” She nodded at a table nearby and waited to seat herself until Cat had done so. “You look fantastic, by the way.”

Cat preened the tiniest bit. “Thank you,” she said, ready to claim she’d worn the lavender and wine skirt suit to work and that it was nothing, but that would be lying and suddenly Cat didn’t want to play coy little games. “I hoped you would like it,” she said instead, adding, “You look very different without your visor and apron.”

“Good different or bad different?” asked Kara, tilting her head to the side, her piercing blue gaze holding Cat’s hazel one.

“Good,” said Cat, letting that gaze flicker down to the hint of cleavage offered by Kara’s blouse then back up, lighting on Kara’s lips briefly on the way. “Very good.”

Kara’s eyes went a shade darker but before she could reply, the woman they’d seen inside joined them at the table. She carried two menus and a pitcher of ice water with slices of fresh lime.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, but her devious smile said she wasn’t sorry at all. She set the pitcher in the center of their table. “Introduce me to your friend, Kara.” 

The delightful blush returned to Kara’s cheeks and she fought not to roll her eyes. “Anong Lim, meet Cat Grant. Cat Grant, may I introduce you to Anong Lim? She and her husband Sunan own this place.”

“Welcome to Baan,” Anong said, inclining her head as she handed a menu to Cat. “It’s so good to finally meet a friend of Kara’s. We were afraid we were the only people she talked to.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Well, us and that dusty old man she works for.”

Laughter danced in Cat’s eyes but she restrained it. “Now you can add one more,” she assured the woman. “Have you known Kara long, then?”

“Since the day she moved in,” said Anong, tutting maternally as she handed Kara her menu. “She had a new home but no groceries. Not prepared at all.”

“I was so busy making the loft livable, I lost track of time,” explained Kara. “I didn’t know the area and had no one to ask. I followed my nose here.”

“She claims to be addicted to my mother’s cooking, but I think she’s just lazy,” teased Anong.

“I can cook!” protested Kara. “But not like Apinya.” She closed her eyes and took a deep, reverent breath. “I mean, who can beat that?”

Anong leaned in toward Cat conspiratorially. “Watch out for this one,” she said. “She thinks flattery can get her everywhere.”

“She might be onto something,” said Cat, looking at Kara and Kara alone. Her tone was light but her jade-green gaze was heavy with suggestion.

Anong raised both eyebrows knowingly and smirked. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look at your menus,” she said, but the women had clearly stopped listening to her. Chuckling, she stole away.

“You said you followed your nose here the first time,” said Cat. “Does that mean you live nearby?”

Kara nodded and licked her lips, her confidence faltering ever so slightly. “Two blocks that way,” she said, using her chin to indicate a direction over Cat’s left shoulder. 

Cat’s smile held a hint of devilry as she lifted her menu and began to peruse it. “Good to know,” she said absently.

Kara could only stare.

\---

Later, as evening fell and they shared the last of the kaffir lime and coconut ice cream from their dessert plate, Cat became quiet, drawing patterns in the melted cream with the tip of her spoon. Kara watched her, on high alert, but didn’t say anything, letting Cat take the time she needed to say what she wanted to say.

This was a crossroads. Kara could feel it.

Eventually, Cat dropped the spoon on the plate and looked up.

“I didn’t know what to expect when I came here tonight and that felt strange to me,” she began. “Unsettling. Almost frightening.”

Kara froze, not wanting to move lest she do anything to further that feeling.

Cat went on. “Everything I’m used to doing on a first date,” she said, “all the silly games, all the insecure manipulation, it feels wrong to me tonight somehow. I want to do things differently.” She held Kara’s gaze for a long moment. “I’m attracted to you,” she said simply.

Kara gasped lightly, eyes wide behind her glasses, but didn’t look away. “I’m glad,” she replied softly. “Because I’m attracted to you, too.”

“And that’s okay with you? Being with a woman? It’s okay with your parents back in Wherever-ville, Kansas?” Cat tried to keep the edge from her voice, but it was hard. She was more than just attracted to Kara and she knew it. If there was the slightest chance this would end with her hurt and disappointed in all the same ways yet again, she had to stop it now. “Because I’ve done the closeted thing too many times, Kara, and I need to be honest with you: I don’t think I can do it again.”

“First, I’m not originally from Kansas,” said Kara carefully, “and second, the Kents aren’t my real parents. They took me and my cousin in after both our families were, um, killed in a fire.” She said the last part softly, still trying to tiptoe around the memories and grief after all these years.

“Oh.” Cat looked stricken, taken aback. “I’m so sorry.”

Kara looked away. “It happened when I was thirteen,” she said, the ache of her loss bleeding into her voice no matter how much she tried to stop it. The terror of those last few moments on her home planet, the knowledge that she was about to lose everything she’d ever known — Kara suspected that trauma would always be with her, etched indelibly into her soul.

She pushed it back into the dark cage where she kept it. “Clark was just a baby when we moved to Kansas, so the Kents are all he’s ever known. To me, Martha and Jonathan have been kind and generous foster parents, and yes, they both know about and support my orientation.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes briefly. “Well, now they do. That took a while, as you might expect.”

Cat chuckled. “Honestly, that’s the first thing you’ve ever said about your life that _has_ met my expectations.” 

Kara chuckled, conceding her point. “What about your parents?” she asked Cat, and Cat’s smile faded. 

“My father died five years ago,” she said matter-of-factly. “Something my mother blames me for, I’m sure. Among many other things.” The image of Adam rose and fell again in Cat’s mind, like a sunken ship dredged up over and over by an ever-churning storm. “As for my sexuality,” she continued, her voice becoming too bright, “my mother once told me to my face that my bisexuality was the most interesting thing about me, so there’s that, I guess.”

Kara looked both shocked and horrified. “That’s awful!” she cried.

Cat gave her a half-shrug. “Well, mothers, daughters…” She waved her hand abstractly. “Hard.” She looked out at the city for a long time, watching the lights twinkle on in the skyscrapers high over their heads, wondering how the Hell to shut the doors she had opened for Kara, wondering if she wanted to. Finally, she took a sip of her water, now warm. “So…” she said, tracing the edge of the glass.

“So?” asked Kara. She fought the overwhelming urge to touch Cat. Not sensually — now wasn’t the time for that — but she wanted to do something comforting, to _be_ something solid and real that would stand between Cat and the pain in her eyes. Before she could do anything, though, she watched Cat painstakingly shutter it all away.

“So,” she repeated when she finished the task, glancing up at Kara with hopeful hazel eyes. “If I asked _you_ out this time around, what would you say?”

“Yes,” said Kara immediately, sitting back in her chair with a watery little laugh, relieved more than she could say. In the next second, she reached across the table and took Cat’s hand in her own. It wasn’t enough, not by half, but it was a start. “I would say yes, Cat.”

\---

Timing, however, became a serious impediment to their plans.

First, a casting at the foundry went badly, forcing Kara to stay and help her patron make a second attempt. 

Then their rescheduled date got double-booked with the red carpet opening of the most controversial big screen film of the year: _To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar._ Patrick Swayze had promised Cat three minutes at the party afterward, to ask anything she wanted. She didn’t dare give up that opportunity.

Now, they were having to delay again, this time so Cat could write a court-ordered retraction to a story about sexual harassment at Miramax Films in her latest issue. ‘Story’ was stretching it, really. The blurb had been a few sentences of carefully-worded speculation around information allegedly provided to Mariana by a source who she said wasn’t ready to come forward. Cat had let it go to print mainly so no one could later say she’d been scooped. 

Names hadn’t been used, not even the name of the movie set where the incident had happened, but Miramax sent their team of litigious wolves to stomp all over _Shoptalk_ , anyway _._

That more than anything proved to Cat that Mariana’s source was legitimate.

“Are you angry?” she asked Kara when she explained why they had to reschedule for a third time.

 _“Disappointed, yes. Angry, no.”_ Kara laughed. _“How fair would that be_ — _to be angry at you for something a judge is making you do? I don’t want you to go to prison, Cat!”_

Cat balanced the phone precariously between her shoulder and her ear, needing both hands to reload the printer’s paper tray. “Not prison, darling,” she said, using the endearment without thinking. “Worse. They could sue my mouth shut.”

Kara hid her grin against her knees, floating two feet above her couch, made giddy by the word _darling_. The next second, she forced herself firmly back into her seat and tried to keep herself from floating again by wedging a couch cushion across her lap. She couldn’t risk someone seeing her through her loft’s windows, no matter how unlikely that would be. 

_“Whatever. The point is I don’t want you running afoul of the law,”_ she said. _“My foster parents took long enough to accept me dating women. I don’t want to add ‘felon’ to the mix.”_

“Ha ha,” said Cat sarcastically. “You make me sound like a common bankrobber.” She shoved the printer tray back into the machine and prayed she’d have no more issues with the damned thing tonight. The _last_ thing she needed was a paper jam.

 _“There is absolutely nothing common about you, Cat Grant,”_ said Kara, voice huskier than usual, even over the phone. _“Trust me.”_

“Is that so?” asked Cat, trying not to sound too pleased by the compliment. It was bad enough she’d felt her stomach drop at the ribbon of unmistakable desire winding through Kara’s voice. “And where will you be taking this uncommonly wonderful person you speak of when we find another night we’re both free? Mmm?” She swung her task chair back and forth in slow arcs, legs crossed, a tan pump dangling from one foot.

 _“Anywhere she damned well wants to go,”_ Kara promised, almost growling the answer, and Cat knew she needed to put a stop to this before she chucked the court order out the window, said to Hell with it all, and took a cab to the warehouse district, calling Kara’s name out the window like they were in some terrible amateur showing of _West Side Story._

“And as much as I’d like to discuss possibilities with you, darling,” she said, saying the word on purpose this time, and adding a little zing of emphasis for good measure, “I really have to get this retraction done.”

 _“I know,”_ said Kara, unable to completely hide the disappointment in her voice. _“Will you call me when you’re home safely? I don’t care what time it is. I’ll be up for a while working anyway.”_ She paused, then added, softly, _“Otherwise I’ll worry and I won’t get a thing done.”_

“I will,” Cat said, warmed by the concern. “I promise.” 

They said their goodbyes and Cat hung up, flashing an indulgent grin at the handset before she reluctantly went back to work.

\---

Hours later, Cat read the latest draft of her retraction for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to read it from Weinstein’s perspective, looking for any crack through which the balding, barrel-chested bully could wedge another lawsuit. The pixelated words, however, seemed to march off the screen of her Dell like ants on their way to a picnic. It was maddening and Cat put her face in her hands, exhausted, pissed off, and wanting to be a million miles away. 

_Or eighteen blocks_ , she thought wistfully, looking out her window toward where she knew Kara lived. The skyscrapers in the way annoyed her.

Sighing, she rubbed her gritty eyes, being careful not to smudge her makeup, then pressed PRINT on her keyboard, resigned to going through the retraction again, promising herself it would be the last time.

\---

Kara tried to work, she did. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She missed Cat. They’d only seen each other a few times since their first date, mostly at Starbucks where they had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, and her anticipation of their second date was heading into dangerous territory — like using-her-powers-against-her-better-judgment territory, something she tried to avoid at all costs.

She knew what discovery on this planet would bring; she’d seen _E.T._ enough times. And her capture wouldn’t just affect her. No, Clark and Martha and Jonathan would all be put in danger. Maybe Cat, too, and Kara couldn’t risk any of them, _especially_ not because she wanted to see the woman she was falling in love with a few days earlier than they’d planned.

 _You haven’t even kissed her properly yet,_ she admonished herself, remembering the light kiss she’d bravely pressed to Cat’s cheek before she’d gotten into her cab at the end of their dinner that night. Kara’s lips had tingled through her entire walk home — a walk that had been particularly hard-won. She’d wanted to fly.

Still…

Kara looked out her windows at the night sky. It was after ten and Cat hadn’t called yet. Kara knew the woman wouldn’t think twice about working through the night on something she thought required perfection, but she also knew Cat’s building didn’t have round-the-clock security like some of the others did. 

She could check on Cat, she reasoned. If she was quick and careful, she would be back within seconds. Kara bit her lip and gave the plan serious consideration before she realized how seriously lame it sounded. She shoved her face into her pillow and groaned. 

_She’s going to be the death of me,_ she whined. Sick of her own moaning, Kara rolled over and looked at the glow-stars on her ceiling. She used to count them on nights when she was having trouble sleeping. Some nights, she’d break down and name them, too, but now she had a new way to drift off.

She felt her cheeks go warm with embarrassment but closed her eyes anyway, letting the range of her hearing expand far beyond what was normal for humans. She sorted and categorized every sound as she heard it, searching for one...specific…

There. 

Cat’s heartbeat, right where it should be, at the offices of _Shoptalk,_ 12th and L, fourth floor. 

Kara shut out the rest of the noise as best she could and focused on Cat’s heartbeat alone, letting it be the lullaby that sang her to sleep. It had been a ‘what if’ before — a silly test of her powers just to see if she could. But that silly test had become a habit now, with Kara seeking out the soft _whoosh-whoosh_ of Cat’s heartbeat more nights than not.

She still felt a little guilty whenever she did it and was careful to disengage if she heard anything even approaching conversation. She’d also become adept in figuring out what the different heart rates meant, such as what Cat on her treadmill sounded like versus, say, what it sounded like when the two of them were talking on the phone.

Cat’s heart rate while she worked late was usually soft and steady and Kara closed her eyes, letting the sound of it wash over her, carrying her, keeping her nightmares at bay. She didn’t know how long she’d been drifting there, happily, before Cat’s heart stuttered once, then began to race faster than Kara had ever heard it before.

She was out the window before she could even think about it.

\---

Cat sent the final draft of the retraction to her lawyer just before eleven, pressing SEND a little harder than she needed to, and sat back in her chair, happy to be done. She was surprised to see how dark it was and swore when she looked at her watch, remembering what she had promised Kara. 

“She’s probably staring at her phone,” she muttered to herself, reaching for hers, but just as she lifted the handset, she heard a muffled _thump_ in the darkened bullpen. 

Cat lowered the handset back into its cradle as quietly as she could, heart racing, and slipped her shoes off. The only light in the whole office came from the lamp on her desk and she was deciding whether or not to turn it off when another knock sounded, this one nearer, and she darted behind her partially open door instead, realizing too late that she hadn’t brought anything even resembling a weapon with her. 

For a period of time that felt like hours to Cat, nothing happened. She was just about to consign the entire incident to her overactive imagination when someone slowly pushed her door open wider. Cat held her breath and pressed herself further into the shadows, hoping whoever it was would just go, but her shoes were still under the desk and her email inbox was still open, emitting a faint blue-white glow reflected in the window behind her desk. 

Cat and the intruder locked eyes in that reflection a second later.

Deciding she’d rather go down fighting, Cat shoved the door as hard as she could. She knocked the intruder off-balance, sending him crashing to the floor, and tried to leap past him toward the main doors of the office, which she swore she had locked.

A gloved hand reached out from the heap on the floor and was about to close around her ankle when a now-familiar whirlwind suddenly whipped up around her, lifting her out of the intruder’s reach and setting her down by the front doors. Then it sped back to where the intruder lay. 

Cat heard half of a very high-pitched scream and another _thump_ before it passed her again, blowing the doors open to rocket down the darkened corridor.

“Wait!” cried Cat just as it sped out of sight. She cursed and ran into the hall after it, calling “Wait, _please!_ I just want to thank you!”

The faint high-pitched whine of the whirlwind stopped abruptly, but Cat didn’t know if that was because it had listened to her or because it was gone. The red light of the EXIT sign above the stairwell door cast an eerie light, but she walked toward it anyway, afraid, but somehow knowing she shouldn’t be.

Before she made it even three steps, a shadowy figure stepped into the hallway, its outline barely visible against the sinister red glow. Cat balled her hands into fists, steeling her nerves, then deliberately relaxed, taking a deep breath.

“This is the third time you’ve helped me,” she said. “The third time you’ve saved my life.”

The figure shifted a little but said nothing. 

Cat took another step forward. “How can I ever thank you?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice at a soothing register but her mouth was so dry and her heart was only now slowing down. 

The form tensed for a moment, then sighed.

“You can say you’re still interested in dating me,” she said softly, stepping fully into the light. Kara pulled the hood of her sweatshirt down, golden hair tumbling free. She didn’t have her glasses on, but otherwise looked just as she always had. 

“It’s you,” said Cat, and the tone of her voice hovered somewhere between surprise and certainty. 

Kara nodded and fought to keep from trembling. She’d put _everything_ on the line here — her freedom, her life, the lives of people she loved — because, even now, even with another new home at stake, she couldn’t deny Cat Grant a single thing.

“Who are you? Where are you from?” asked Cat, in full journalist mode, and Kara almost collapsed to the floor with relief. 

_She said ‘who,’ not ‘what,’_ she told herself over and over, holding onto that important distinction with all the hope her heart contained.

“My name is Kara Zor-El,” she said quietly. “I come from a planet twenty-seven light years from Earth.” Unwanted tears welled in her eyes. “It was called Krypton.”

“‘Was?’” repeated Cat. Then realization struck. “The fire that killed your parents, your aunt and uncle — it was actually your planet...dying?”

Kara nodded again, wiping away the tears on her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

Cat’s heart ached to see Kara standing there in so much pain, ready to flee. How long had she been grieving alone? How long had she hidden herself and her powers from the world? How difficult must it have been to assimilate not just to a new culture, but to a new history, a new entire planet? And with a baby in tow, the last of their kind?

Aliens. From another planet. 

Mariana had been right all along.

Cat almost laughed out loud. Instead, she shook her head.

“What?” asked Kara, frowning, not understanding.

Cat dismissed the question with a wave. “Later,” she promised. “Will you run if I come closer?”

“No,” said Kara, thinking Cat just meant a few steps closer. Instead, the smaller woman squared her shoulders, marched down the hall in her stocking feet right into Kara’s arms, and kissed her.

At first, Kara’s brain was just blank space, unable to process what was happening. Her body, though, understood all too well, responding eagerly, hungrily, holding Cat close, stunned by the feel, the weight of her finally in her arms. When Kara’s brain shook itself awake, well, then the kiss _really_ caught fire.

They took their time parting and when they did, Cat cupped Kara’s cheek in her hand, looking up at her, eyes soft and full of light. “I’m still interested in dating you,” she whispered. “In fact, I’m very interested in learning all about you.”

The ecstatic grin that slowly broke across Kara’s face was like watching the sun rise. “Thank you,” she said. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” warned Cat. “We still have to take care of the mess in my office.”

“Oh.” Kara had the good sense to look sheepish. “He should still be unconscious,” she offered. “Couldn’t we just — I don’t know — put him in the elevator and let someone find him tomorrow morning? That is if he doesn’t wake up before that…”

“...and wonder what the Hell happened.” Cat smirked. “I appreciate the simplicity and the deviousness of that.” She looked Kara up and down. “And to think I thought you were my guardian angel.”

Kara laughed ruefully. “I’m no angel,” she assured the smaller woman. “Not even close.”

“Maybe not,” said Cat, “but you certainly were my guardian.” She tugged Kara toward her office. “Someday, you’ll have to tell me how you did it.”

“Not tonight?” Kara looked crestfallen. She wanted to stay with Cat, even if it was only to talk. She thought Cat wanted that, too.

Cat shook her head. “Not tonight. Tonight is for exploring the other mysteries of the Universe.” 

Confusion clouded Kara’s eyes. “Such as?”

“Important things,” said Cat, stopping in the corridor to pull Kara down for a long, decadent kiss. 

“Like?” asked Kara when they separated and Cat didn’t explain.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Cat, amused by Kara’s obliviousness. “Like ‘How many angels _can_ dance on the head of a pin?’”

Cat expected Kara to get the joke, then. She expected Kara to laugh and roll her eyes, both of them now on the same page, conveniently forgetting that Kara had never done one single thing Cat had ever expected of her.

“Well, how big is the head of this pin?” asked Kara with a faraway look. “I mean, is it a dressmaking pin or a T-pin? T-pins offer more surface area, but that could also depend on the size of the bead on the dressmaking pin. Oh, but then there are lynch pins, which have square heads! That increases the surface area even _more_ —”

“Forget I asked,” Cat said, interrupting grouchily and pulling away from Kara to storm down the hallway. Kara caught up to her easily.

“I told you,” she said, smiling cheekily, terribly pleased with herself. 

“Told me what?”

Kara caught Cat’s hand in hers and pirouetted her elegantly, right into her arms. “I’m no angel,” she repeated, winking down at Cat. “Not even close.”

“You better not be,” replied Cat with a wicked glint in her eye, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss Kara again.

_fin_


End file.
